


Good and Evil

by Lucyemers



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Family, Gen, Implied Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:10:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The night that they had broken the rule about “leaving work at the door” was the night that Win Thursday had remembered what evil was."</p><p>"The night that they had broken the rule about “leaving work at the door” was the night Fred Thursday had remembered what goodness was."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good and Evil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/gifts).



> For a Tumblr prompt from Linguini: Fred/Win and, "breaking the rules".
> 
> Writing this fic was what made me post some specifically fluffy prompts a few days later because this one turned out pretty dark, Never fear, Linguini I'm also writing you some fluffy, sweet Win/Fred stuff too. :)

The night that they had broken the rule about “leaving work at the door” was the night that Win Thursday had remembered what evil was. She had lived through the second World War and, as anyone who had seen such things, she had known evil. She’d seen it in the newsreels. She’d seen it in the lists that went on and on of those killed in action. And she’d felt it in her husband’s shaking when he woke screaming every night for three months straight. 

But slowly and mercifully the reality of that evil had faded from her daily life. She raised her children. She kept her house. She loved her family. She knew her husband was in the business of catching and putting evil people to trial, and, though their past had proved that they both had the emotional fortitude to speak about such things between the two of them, they had made the decision that the aftershocks of that evil would be as absent as possible from Sam and Joan’s lives.

And then one of Joan’s school mates had been attacked walking home from work and had been left in a coma with recovery unlikely. Fred had kept it from her as long as he could, but schoolyard gossip had prevailed. She had shut herself into her room and refused supper. Win had tentatively asked Fred about the status of the case. His face hardened. He said that nothing would come of it until they got hold of some evidence. Typically with difficult cases he would retreat to his study with his pipe, mull things over, take a break from the bustle of the house, and return to them if not fully recovered then at least present. But now he just sat, head in his hands, his whole body betraying a hopelessness she had not seen since the war. Standing in the doorway of the sitting room watching him and listening to Joan’s tears from her bedroom she was dizzied, nearly short of breath as she felt the relentless weight of evil so long distant that she had almost forgotten what it felt like. She took a deep breath. “I’ll go talk to her.”

***

The night that they had broken the rule about “leaving work at the door” was the night Fred Thursday had remembered what goodness was. He had married the woman he loved and raised happy and healthy children and, as anyone who had seen such things, he had known goodness. He had seen it in the joyful tears that Win had cried when he had asked her to marry him. He had seen it in the way tiny Joan had held her brother’s hand as he learned to walk. He had felt it in the embrace of his wife and children as they hugged him every night when he got home for eighteen years straight. 

But slowly and painfully the reality of that goodness was more and more difficult to keep at the forefront of his mind. He watched countless post mortems. He failed to save Mickey Carter. He saw unsolvable cases pile up. And, despite all this, he was relentless in his efforts to keep work at work. 

And then it had been Sandra Jordan and the evil had hit home for Joan. He should have gone to her. He should have told her that everything would be ok. But, of course, everything wouldn’t be ok, and he had sat immobilized by this stark realization. He had always known that the course of justice was consistently, and in some cases permanently, thwarted, but he had thought that he was a good enough father to keep his children safe from it all. This illusion had been shattered, and he sat with his face in his hands, wondering how he as a detective inspector could have ever believed such an illusion. 

“I’ll go talk to her”, he heard Win say as she left the room.

He sat for maybe an hour more, the same thoughts cycling around in his head. Then he heard, he couldn’t believe it, laughter. He went down the hall to Joan’s room and peeked in the door. Joan was cross legged on her bed, leaning back against her mother who was smoothing her hair. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but Joan laughed again. Her voice was still thick with crying. It was a kind of desperate laugh. Something that she was holding onto for just a minute because her mother had offered her some passing comfort, some passing humor or happiness amid the tides of her grief. She sniffed and looked like she might start crying again, but Win wrapped her arms around her shoulders and began hushing her. 

He was dizzied, nearly short of breath as he felt a weight lift, just for a moment. He was utterly in awe of the goodness of these two women, and how their grief and anger never overwhelmed it. He would never know what Win could have said that would have offered their daughter solace in such a bleak scenario, and perhaps even if he did he would not have understood, but he knew that Joan was her mother’s daughter and so she had inherited all of her strength, all of her resilience. He couldn’t protect them from evil. His head knew that even if his heart did not. All he could do, all any of them could do really, was hold on to that immense goodness.


End file.
